


You Need My Absolution (For The Sins You Won't Confess)

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Peter tied to a St Andrew's cross, Whipping, references to blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: Peter needs absolution. Chris gives it to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petopher Appreciation Week Day 4: Kink

Peter's hand flexes as Chris wraps fingers around his wrist and lifts his arm to tie him into the cross against the wall. He knows that the restraints Peter is wearing aren't strong enough to hold a wolf, knows that Peter could easily break out of them if he wanted to. Just as he knows that Peter won't. That he'll let Chris strap him in, not trying to stop him.

There's silence while Chris works, first Peter's wrists and then his ankles, four points of contact giving an illusion of holding Peter there. Chris can see the gooseflesh already rising on Peter's skin. Jeans and a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than Chris' entire wardrobe is worth are neatly folded on the chair against the wall. It leaves Peter bare to the cold air in the basement, Chris having knocked the thermostat down a couple of notches hours before Peter even arrived.

Because Chris had known he'd have Peter at his door tonight. He'd known it as soon as there were raised voices at the pack meeting earlier, derision in Derek's tone as he and Peter had argued in Scott's kitchen. And he doesn't know exactly what was said, although with the look Scott threw in Cora's direction, he knows that the words were more than audible to the wolves in the house. But he heard the word 'fire' and he heard the word 'Laura'. That, and the look on Peter's face as he'd stormed out, was enough to start prepping as soon as the meeting was over, as soon as he'd gotten home.

He'd been half expecting to find Peter already on his doorstep as he'd pulled into his drive, but the only shadow cast was his own as he got out of the truck, Allison having already planned to stay the night at Lydia's.

He'd showered and prepped the basement, and had been nursing a mug of coffee (he doesn't drink, not these nights) when Peter had arrived. There'd been no knock at the door, but Chris had known it was Peter as soon as he'd seen the movement out of the window. Peter hadn't spoken when Chris had opened the door, just slipped past him into the house and headed straight towards the basement.

Chris had finished his coffee before he'd followed Peter down to the basement, closing the door behind him. Peter had already been naked when Chris had gotten there. He'd only glanced at Peter as he'd walked over to pick up the restraints sitting on the bench. The leather is thick, solid, sturdy as Peter held out his hands to have them wrapped around his wrists and buckled closed.

Once Peter's wrists are done, Chris kneels to wrap the other restraints around his ankles. And then he leads the wolf to the cross, connecting him to the wood and tying him in.

"How many, Peter?" Chris asks. Because the answer will tell him how badly Peter needs tonight, how close to the edge the wolf is skirting.

Peter doesn't answer, and Chris closes his eyes briefly. There have been times before when Peter has been non-verbal, but not many. His hand moves over the soft flogger he'd laid out, the suede strands the ones that he normally starts warming Peter's skin with. But not tonight, not if Peter's like this. Wrapping his fingers around the handle of the flogger next to the suede one, Chris picks it up, trailing his fingers through the thin leather strands.

He doesn't tell Peter when he's about to start. He knows that wolf hearing means that Peter can hear it when Chris stops, can hear the shift of the clothes he's wearing as he adjusts his stance, and the way the air cuts as he pulls his arm back to begin.

Peter makes no sound the first time the flogger hits him, the only noise the heavy thud of the strands against skin. Chris works silently, steadily reddening Peter's skin. It's harder work on a wolf, the first flush of red soon fading until Chris reaches his rhythm, hitting Peter's skin enough so that the ruddy tone stays on his flesh.

It's only when Peter's finally making a noise, soft grunts coming from him with each hit, that Chris stops. The flogger's put back on the bench, and Chris takes up the snapdragon next to it.

The slash of red appears across Peter's skin with a snap of Chris' wrist, Peter gasping and arching back.

He remembers the first time he did this, the first time he took a whip to Peter's skin. Remembers the way Peter had turned up after he'd been resurrected, only days after Chris had buried Victoria, and demanded to be hurt. And Chris thinks that if it hadn't been then, if he hadn't been facing a future without his wife and hadn't seen the last few days through the bottom of a whiskey bottle, that he would never have done it.

Because Peter wasn't something he thought about. Not beyond a passing memory of two kids who thought they were strong enough to take on the world, without even realising that it was never the world that was against them, it was their own families. And the touches back then were anything but this. Soft and careful, fingers pressing inside and opening Peter up for Chris.

But Peter had wanted it and Chris had been angry. Angry at life, at himself, at the wolves who had taken Vic from him. The only thing he'd had at that point was a strap. It had been something Victoria had come home with once, laughing about how they should try it. And after that first and only time it had lived in a box in the back of the closet. But it had been in Chris' hand that night.

Peter had snarled at him the entire night, telling him to go harder. And the combination of Chris' grief and anger had collided spectacularly with Peter's need as the wolf's skin had gone from ruddy to red to blood stained.

Peter had shuddered as he'd come, a final welt from Chris' strap laid across him as he shook. Chris had tugged open his jeans as he'd looked at Peter, the edges of the wounds across his skin already healing. It had only take a few brief strokes before Chris was coming, splattering white over the red on Peter's flesh before collapsing onto the bed.

Peter had been gone when Chris had woken up, mouth feeling like cotton and head pounding. And Chris would have thought it nothing more than an alcohol fuelled dream had it not been for the streaks of blood and come smeared onto the sheets. He'd thought that had been it, one single night never to be repeated.

But Peter had come back. It may have taken him months to do so, but he'd come back.

And now here they are, with Peter turning up when he needs it, with Chris knowing Peter well enough to anticipate when that will be.

He snaps the 'dragon back over Peter's ass, a fiery red trail rising on his skin, only to fade into nothing all too quickly.

There are still no words from Peter, nothing more than gasped out breaths and soft grunts when the whip hits him. Chris lays the hits in a precise pattern, one that he's sure Peter understands. The slash across his hip is where the rogue alpha clawed Peter months ago. The one across his shoulder is where the bullet from those hunters that came to town hit. The set he lays down Peter's side is where the scars from the fire healed, where Peter still sometimes sees them when he looks in the mirror.

Not that he's ever told Chris that, not that he's done anything apart from run his fingers over his skin, like he's still surprised to feel it smooth. Chris hits every one of those spots, every place where Peter touches, expecting to feel raised skin, barely healed. He lays his own marks down for the ones Peter's body has already rejected.

The whip snaps over Peter's ass, even though the only marks ever laid here before were the ones from Chris himself. Welts from the implements Chris has held, red lines from the blunt nails he's raked over Peter's skin as he fucks him. Every mark, both those originally laid by Chris and those he had nothing to do with are covered, claimed by Chris for his own.

He brings each hit down quicker, harder, not giving Peter's skin enough time to soothe out the red, line over line over line, each of them marking Peter with Chris' name in red and purple.

Peter is trembling, and Chris doesn't need to look to know the wolf is hard, his cock straining more with every time Chris draws his arm back.

"That's it, Peter," Chris says, another line drawn across Peter's shoulders. "Give it to me."

Because Chris wants everything Peter is, everything he has. (Even if he knows he already has it. Even if he knows that he's the only one Peter comes to with this, the only one Peter trusts to see him as he is. He's the only one Peter trusts with his vulnerability.)

The pitch of Peter's moans increases with each new mark laid on him, each of them thickening Chris' own cock as he hears them. Because this is the Peter he wants, the Peter who gives up everything to him. And Chris isn't ashamed to admit that part of him that flares bright when Peter comes to him, the red hot pulse of possession that drives through him with every mark that Chris lays onto the wolf.

Chris hits him again, red stripe over red stripe. And he doesn't need to be a wolf to sense the thickening in the air, the scent of precome and want and need. Chris draws back his arm once, twice, and with the third snap of the 'dragon over his flesh, Peter comes, shuddering in his bonds as white splatters against the wall and drips to the ground.

Dropping the whip, Chris tugs at his belt, opening his jeans and reaching inside to pull his hard cock out. He steps closer to Peter, pressing against his back as he jerks himself, only taking a few strokes before he comes, covering the marks on Peter's back with drops of white against the red.

Lowering his head, Chris presses a kiss against Peter's shoulder, feeling Peter tense beneath him for a moment before relaxing. Without looking, Chris reaches up, releasing the buckles on the restraints around Peter's wrists by feel alone.

Peter doesn't lower his arms, and when Chris raises his head to look up, it's to see Peter's fingers still wrapped around the hand holds on the cross, knuckles white.

Running his fingers slowly up Peter's arms, he takes both of Peter's hands in his, his thumbs rubbing softly over the skin he can reach until, finally, carefully, he feels Peter's fingers unclench. Chris draws Peter's hands down, his thumbs continuous caressing Peter's inner wrists. Placing Peter's hands in front of him, on the centre of the cross, Chris places another kiss on the back of the wolf's neck.

"Stay there," he murmurs, knowing Peter will hear the quiet words and not willing to break the silence that's descended around them.

Tucking himself back into his jeans, Chris kneels down, releasing first one of Peter's ankles, and then the other, before getting back to his feet.

There are so many times Peter has already been gone by this point. So many times Peter has gathered up his clothes and left without a word, trusting Chris to take him apart, but somehow not trusting him enough to be the one to put him back together again.   
But it feels different this time, even if Chris can't explain why.

Peter glances over to where his clothes are folded, his eyes skimming over Chris before glancing at the stairs that lead out of the basement and away from what tonight has been. And Chris can see it in Peter's eyes, the hesitation in wanting to leave, as though he wants to stay but doesn't know how to say. But he doesn't have to, not tonight.

"Stay," Chris says. Because he wants more than this, more than being just the person that flails Peter's skin with harsh touches.

And he thinks that Peter's going to refuse, going to get dressed and leave, but he's not moving.

"Stay," Chris says again. "Please." Because he can't be the only one of them that wants this. Knows he isn't. He's seen the glances Peter sends in his direction when he thinks Chris isn't looking. And Chris knows that Peter's been on the edges for too long, held apart from the others in a way that's cruel for a wolf.

The time seems to stretch out, and Chris wonders if he put himself out there for nothing, wonders if Peter understands that this is more than the anger and pain it started out as. And then Peter's nodding, and something inside Chris relaxes. He runs a hand over Peter's ass, fingers trailing over where the red marks have all but faded into nothing.

There's still a layer of sweat on Peter, and droplets of come against his skin, both his own and Chris', and Chris is suddenly grateful that one of the things that came with the house when they bought it was a shower big enough for two in the en suite attached to the master bedroom. He thinks that they'll wash away the evening in hot water, letting it all swirl away down the drain in a torrent. (And he thinks that there'll be other evenings in the shower. Evenings where he has Peter pressed against the shower wall, fucking into him as the water cascades over both of them. Evenings where he runs shampoo through his wolf's hair just to hear Peter's rumble of pleasure. But that's not for tonight.)

He decides to leave Peter's clothes where they are as he wraps his hand around Peter's wrist. Denim and cashmere are no use for sleeping in, and Chris knows he has something upstairs for Peter to wear. A burst of pleasure runs through him at the thought of Peter sleeping in his clothes, at the thought of seeing Peter in the kitchen tomorrow morning, one of Chris' shirts on as Chris feeds him breakfast.

"Shower and then bed," Chris comments, wanting to give Peter one final out, one final chance to stop this.

But Peter just looks at him and nods. "Sounds good," he says, his voice low, rough, like he hasn't used it since he walked out of the pack meeting, like this is the first time he's wanted to speak since the argument with Derek. 

And Chris just nods back, and leads Peter out of the basement.


End file.
